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We were one of the thousands freezing and awaiting the power to come back on. The lights went out yesterday around 3:30. I got a phone call on my cell around 5:30 from hubby who had run out of gas on the freeway.

Normally that's not a problem. Ok, it's a problem, but it's a fixable one that doesn't take five hours. This time it did. Trees were down everywhere, power lines were down on streets so streets were blocked off and closed. This was during the Friday evening rush hour, which made it all the more fun.

The story takes some interesting and bizarre twists with me driving five kids in a suburban that wasn't mine, that was nearly out of gas itself, but I won't go into that right now.

Suffice it to say that we survived the five hour rescue trip and returned to a freezing cold house. Thankfully we're prepared for emergencies like this and we had candles, flashlights and MP3 players. Ashley brought a cardboard box downstairs loaded with blankets. "This is our emergency box of blankets, just in case", she said.

We all huddled in our room to sleep. Around midnight the power came back on with a vengence. Apparently when the power went off the television in our bedroom had been turned up to concert level on the cartoon channel. Suddenly I'm jolted awake and think I'm hallucinating. I wouldn't reccomend that to anyone with a weak heart.

At any rate, the temperatures are still quite chilly here but not in the house. The children learned to appreciate the power of...power.


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A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

Elderly Abuse

I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…



Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
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